The living have someone to collect their debts. The dead don't.
So an shop opened in the old lanes south of the city, collecting bad debts on behalf of the dead.
In their final days, a fish appears above the heads of those nearing death. It represents the things left unsaid and undone, things that won't fade away. I can see them. I deliver what needs delivering and settle what needs settling, stroke by stroke.
But the rules of this trade are harsh: with every debt I take on, I must first pledge the thing I hold most dear. Once it's given up, it never comes back.
The first thing I pledged was my mother's voice.
I don't even dare think about what to pledge next.
People say this business is a bad deal. Even now, I still don't know if it's worth it.
I only know that as the pages of the ledger turn, the client field for entry number 0001 remains empty.
That ledger is waiting for its owner to return.
